Pages

Wednesday, July 13, 2011

Day 13 - Non-fiction descriptions

It's been a month today since I sent my full manuscript to my perspective agent and I'm patiently waiting to hear back from her. Okay, I admit that I checked my email at least ten times today and didn't hear anything. But, I know it can take two to three months for an agent to read a novel. I just need to have faith in my writing.

Today's Camp NaNoWriMo writing went fairly well. I made a decision that Lydia, my main character, would go home for the week of spring break to spend a little time with her family, despite her lack of love for them. She ends up having an amazing conversation with her half-brother that I could not have planned better. But I got into describing the house she lived in and I discovered that it was quite easy to write about the house that I grew up in and imagine it. It felt rich and real. Well, it is real, though it's probably not decorated with a chicken theme on apricot walls in the kitchen. It's non-fiction, but I really love it.

I'll let you read a little to see what you think of the descriptions. I hope that it paints a picture for you. :)

I took my exit off of the interstate and into Haven, a small town with only six different restaurants and a failing department store. My family lived only a few blocks into the city, in a brown house on the corner of Brewer Street. I pulled onto the small gravel drive-way in a little crescent moon shape in front of the house. The wooden fence was falling apart from lack of upkeep and the front porch swing was in desperate need of sanding. I parked in front of the weeping willow tree. There were no other cars in front of the house and I assumed that there was no one else home. I almost dropped my basket as I walked up the cracked sidewalk and into the house.

“Hello?” I called.

The front entrance opened into the wide hallway that went straight into the living room and dining room. The small television was on and someone was lounging on the couch. I slipped off my shoes, per Sasha’s crazy rules, and stepped onto the white carpet. It was Austin, my half-brother. He was sleeping lightly and it was clear how much he looked like a young version of my father. A stray piece of brown hair was on his forehead and I wanted to brush it back, but I didn’t. There was a bag of ice resting on his knee and he was still dressed in his gymnastic outfit. The bag was dripping water onto the floor and it wasn’t doing him much good anymore. I set down my things and picked up the bag. His eyes quickly opened and he jolted to a sitting position.

I just love that description. It feels like my home and it's... hard to describe, but I have a strong emotional connection to that house. :) What do you think?